The King's Brother
by tawdery
Summary: Crown Prince Loki knew he would always be simply the king's brother; as soon as he was old enough to understand that, he never imagined more. Now, he has been given the task of interrogating a particularly difficult female 'Midgardian' prisoner of Asgard: one who will eventually be unwillingly revealled as a divine guest, rather than a threat to the realm. Loki/OC


**Author's Note: Hello, Fanfiction. Long-time Loki Lurker, first-time poster. Just a few pointers that will make reading much more enjoyable (and understandable)**

**-I am very longwinded, and really rather formal with the written word. I'm terribly sorry, but imagery & adjectives really do it for me. If I can't picture what I'm reading, then I don't want to be reading it. That fuels my writing style, as well as extensive vocab.**

**-I'm Irish/English, and so my sense of humour- including the way I speak- is very, very dry. I'm one of those silly souls who understate things quite a bit. And all of the text, ****especially**** the dialogue, should be read as so. The O/C isn't a frigid bitch, (am I allowed to say bitch?) she's just incredibly wry, sardonic, acerbic, etc...**

**-Oh, yes, and finally, I curse. Quite a fucking bit actually. I'm sorry if that isn't to your liking. I only add in curses when they apply to the character or their situation.**

**Why, thank you.**

**...**

Ana was exhausted. As she made her way up the two steps of her front stoop, she pulled out her medley of keys and blindly fumbled for the hand-worked brass that would let her inside the cramped townhouse she called home. Without checking the letterbox, she trudged into her living room, pulling off her heeled boots and letting the door swing shut.

"Blaaaaargh." Came the garbled, grumbled sigh as the tiny redhead sank, unceremoniously into a mint green armchair. Slumped against the high back of the Queen Anne style chair, she closed her eyes and let her breath even out into a soothing, relaxed rhythm. Damn the five hours of sleep she'd had that night, Damn her aching feet, and Damn, most of all, the cursed insomnia that plagued her night after night.

An insistent head butt against her shoulder roused her slightly, and the mewl that followed caused her to open her eyes; pupils foggily adjusting to see the black, triangular head rubbing against her.

"Hello, Paniper," Ana greeted her beloved cat. "Are you hungry, babe? Do you want to go out?" She stroked him for a moment, then rose to alert the intelligent creature she was ready to see to his needs. The long, tall, black cat mewled again, and padded halfway to the adjoining kitchen.

"Ah, it'll be food you're wanting then." She passed him, and stroked his back as he twined between her legs. "Don't trip me, you wee devil! You're always tripping me up- Think of who'll be feedin' you if I break my neck, hm?"

Ana hadn't grown up with a fondness for cats, quite the opposite in fact. Her entire childhood she had grown up alongside a female English Setter, a hunting dog, and had always considered herself a 'Dog Person.' Two years prior, however, she had been spending quite a bit of time with some friends of her then-boyfriend, when the boys had unwillingly acquired two kittens. A house of four, sometimes five, boys in their early twenties proved to be quite an inhospitable place for baby cats- especially the trouble-maker that Pan was proving himself to be- and after seeing him shut inside a refrigerator, flicked repeatedly, _hard_, in the face, and thrown off the second story balcony, Ana had decided to kidnap the six-month old kitten.

They'd developed an almost inseparable bond, especially as Paniper, or Baby Pan as Ana often called him, proved himself to be quite brilliant for his species.

She filled his food-bowl, refreshed his water, and tiredly sloped over to her overstuffed bookshelves; hoping to find a volume that would make her insomnia-driven night an entertaining one.

"Ahh, 100 Years of Solitude. I haven't read this in ages," Ana murmured to herself. "Don't mind me if I cry tonight, Pan, this book is _heavy. _Gabriel García Marquez is a fucking G-E-N-I-U-S._"_ She slipped the thick paperback out, and settled back into the armchair, flipping through to the beginning of the tale and began to devour the text.

After an hour or so of poring over the small print, Ana felt a small tug- right in the centre of her lower belly. She glanced at it, annoyed at the disruption in her reading, and began the paragraph anew.

Again, that tugging sensation! Like a lasso around her spinal cord, but much stronger this time. Perturbed, she placed the book, spine up, on the steamer trunk she used as a coffee table and felt her stomach with both hands. It was too soon for her period, wasn't it? She swore she'd had it only a week or two ago. Then, the tug became a yank, and she curled into herself in pain. Pan trotted over, observing her intently with his orb-like eyes.

"What. The Fuck." Ana rasped out, half whispering. This hurt. _Food Poisoning? I've never felt such a horrible sensation. This isn't normal…" _Her last thought before she was wrenched into nothingness from her armchair was if this was a joke being played on her by her Father.

…...

She awoke in a thin bed of snow. On a cliff. In the middle of fucking nowhere. Her head ached; although her body felt much worse- like all her muscles had been wrung out in an old-timey washing machine. Ana sat up slowly, which was a Herculean task, and took in her surroundings.

There was nothing within sight. Just snow-covered hills, snow-covered valleys, and an outcropping of snow-covered mountains far away to her right. _Good thing I like snow… What the fucking fuck in fuck's name is fucking going on?! _

Our heroine has a strong tendency to curse in a manner that would make a sailor blush, particularly when she feels unbridled emotion, like fear. Or anger. Or really, in most situations that don't require her to employ tact. At the moment, however, she was verging on a glorious panic attack- so fear and anger were indeed the motivators for her mood, and language.

More than anything, Ana Sophia was in shock. That would set in later, along with the cold, but for the moment she was only frightened, angry, and horrendously confused. The tugging that had brought her to this barren place: it wasn't the work of her Father, or of any magic she was acquainted with. And the place itself, despite all of the familiarities of snow and rock, it was utterly foreign.

Ana looked to the sky to confirm her perceptions: hoping for the familiar sight of the winter constellations. Perhaps the Seven Sisters, or the ever-faithful Orion would show her the way. Scanning the stars, more than she had ever seen, her hopes faded quickly. Not a single pinprick of light looked like one she knew. Not one.

Practicality was the best course of action now. Ana knew herself well enough that when the inevitable anxiety attack struck, it would be delayed from the shock of such an abrupt displacement to such an alien place- and if she dallied long enough for that to occur, she would freeze to death.

Suddenly, and she knew not for long, her mind was as the calm before the storm, clear and unburdened with worry or emotion. Ana could- had- to accept the absurdity of her situation. She was not on Earth. She was not on Earth, and she was woefully underdressed for snow.

Practicality- cold, logical, rationality. This mindset was just as alien to her as the ground she sat on, but Ana knew for the time being she must adopt it absolutely. She giggled as a quote sprang to her mind, _'Only a Sith deals in absolutes.'_ Frowning, she shook her head, as if to fling away such fancy.

_Okay. Logic. Survival. Think Bear Grylls. Mmm, he's kind of sexy… _Hey! _Focus, damnit! Alright, sitting down will only get you wet. Wet and freezing is bad combo. There we go, not so hard; we've got the first step planned already. _Ana forced herself to stand, her arms shooting out to steady herself, yet swaying and staggering like a newborn foal all the same.

_Okay, okay, this isn't half-fucking-bad: I've done lots of drunken stumbling around weird-ass places before, I can handle my footing if I take it slow… But.. Now that I'm up, where do I go from here?_

In the back of her mind, a small, weak voice reminded her there were several names she needed only to speak aloud to herald their appearance: to gain divine assistance. She could so easily ask for help… That meek reminder did nothing but etch a deep scowl onto her face: _I solve my problems alone! _She snapped at her pathetic misgivings.

Taking a calming breath of the frigid air, Ana Sophia scanned the horizon more carefully this time, straining to see any signs of life. The mountains were an obvious no, but there was a valley diagonally to the left that sloped up into a promising-looking set of hills.

With a sigh, Ana resignedly drew on the scant traces of magic that she possessed; merely a side effect of her Father's blood in her veins. She was no spell-weaver, in fact she was unable to cast any spell, but there were a few tools she could harness- one of which being a heightened sense of another person (or persons) presence.

She sent out mental feelers, searching for a heartbeat: she prayed for even one, and finally, after what seemed like aeons, she found one. A pulse, a male one, was between her and that valley she had suspected might be her saving grace. She almost crowed with the pleasure her accomplishment brought her.

_Hmmm, and he seems to be heading this way… quickly at that. I wonder if he is a friend or a foe.. Never mind that, time will tell soon enough- I need to get out of this cold!_

Ana strode towards the strong heartbeat of the man she felt ahead of her, rubbing her hands together rapidly in an attempt to keep warm. She kept that movement constant; the warm friction from her palms moving over her arms and exposed legs again and again.

The closer she got to this stranger, the stronger she could feel his pulse- pounding a steady tattoo that her feet kept in time with; each pace feeling like a choreographed step in a dance to her survival through the snow.

**Post Note: I won't go into great detail into where I plan this story to go, but I have a feeling it will be a long one. And yes, of course, very smutty in all the right places. I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter; I sort of threw it together as a starting point- I think I'll be editing it every now and then. I've been writing from when the O/C actually reaches Asgard (chapter 2 or 3?) I'd love a review if you've got one-there won't be any Loki until the next chapter or the one after. Don't worry, my brethren: ****he is coming****.**


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